These Foolish Games
by FicFloveR
Summary: O/S "In case he failed to notice, in case he failed to see... this is my heart bleeding before him." Yeah yeah, there's food, B/E, sex, and angst but not the 'make you wanna slit your wrist' kind . It's saturday and I'm bored.


**AN: Any and all lyric quotations or references belong to Jewel. This was kind of inspired by a pic jadapattinson posted on twitter a long while back. It's rough around the edges, and it's un-beta'd... so all mistakes are mine and mine alone. If it sucks, well then it sucks. I don't write sex, I have it. **

**Consider it disclaimed.**

It's another rainy Saturday in Forks. What else is to be expected when you live here?

I am currently curled up on the couch with a book, my attention fluctuating between focusing on the words on the page and the pitter patter of the rain on the window next to me. The lights in the house are turned off, the television is turned off, and the phone is unplugged. I am cocooned safely and warmly in my gray world of near silence. Only the dim light filtering through the window and on to the pages before me to keep me company.

It is comforting.

I spent so much of my life prior to moving here in constant noise and action. My mother Renee is the type that has to have background noise in order to not go stir crazy. She can't sit still and enjoy peace and quiet, she can't be still.

This desire I have to ensconce myself in solitude is something I seemingly inherited from my late father.

That phrase always confounds me. He's dead, buried, gone. He's not late.

I turn my attention toward the DVD player, focusing on the digital time display. I had not realized that my entire day has passed. It is almost six in the evening. Noting the time, my body experiences some sort of Pavlovian response and I immediately feel my legs tingling, my stomach tightening, and wetness pool between my legs.

Saturday days are reserved for relaxing. Saturday evenings are reserved for _him._

Edward Cullen had me transfixed from the first day that I met him. I had come to Forks to settle Charlie's estate after he passed unexpectedly, and was fully planning on returning to sunny Florida.

Until I met Edward.

I had packed all of Charlie's clothes and took them to the goodwill since I didn't personally know anyone who could use them. Edward was there, volunteering, and helped me unload everything from my car. He was so handsome and charming that I forgot to be sad for a few minutes. I almost felt like there was sunshine beaming from somewhere within him, lighting this dreary town single handedly with his mere presence. I had never met anyone like him.

We had lunch together that day, and continued to see one another sporadically for a few weeks. Eventually our "meetings" had become steady, predictable. Now I know to expect him every Saturday evening at six o'clock, and every other Wednesday at eight pm.

I am only twenty six, but I have always been mature for my age. I don't like to play games when dating people, and I don't like for people to play them with me. I don't see the point in any of it. If you love someone then you don't just say it, you _do it_. If it's casual, it's casual. Establish it, and let it be what it is.

The fact that I have always been so adamant about not dating people that seem to thrive on toying with my emotions is in direct contrast to my "relationship" with Edward. Edward, who only sees me when it is beneficial to him. Edward, who toes the line between a love struck teenager and a completely aloof asshole.

Edward, who owns me like no one before him.

Edward manages to never discuss personal things like family or friends, but it is a small town so there isn't much I don't know. He has never mentioned his mother and father, his brother and sister, or his best friend. He never talks about his work. He never tells me anything, but I feel like I know everything.

There was an immediate connection there with Edward that I could not deny. Otherwise, I would have left town and never looked back again. Instead I found myself taking a job at the local bank, trying to put my business degree to some use. As much as I didn't understand it, I didn't want to let him go.

I thought of him constantly and counted the minutes until I would see or speak to him again. I wanted him to feel the same way about me, but it never seemed to be happening.

Eventually I gave up on the fantasy of having a normal relationship with Edward, and found myself settling for the secret one that we have maintained.

Every weekend it's always the same. On Saturday he comes by and we spend time talking about nothing in particular. We eat dinner, watch television, make love. Well, I make love, he fucks.

Sunday mornings he stays for breakfast, then he's gone again.

It breaks my heart every single time.

I could put a stop to it. Tell him that I was through with him, and that I was leaving. The only thing that stops me is knowing that the heartache I feel every week as he leaves means that, in some way, he is still here. An absence of the pain would mean an absence of Edward, and that is not something I'm sure I can handle.

I hear a car door slam shut and my attention is pulled to the street. Edward is outside, taking off his coat, standing in the rain. He's always crazy like that.

I watch from my window, which is very appropriate. I always feel like I'm outside, looking in on Edward. Never in the same space as a participant, merely a spectator.

He is always the mysterious one, with his dark green eyes and his careless hair. The green of his iris matches the dark moss that clings to every tree in the area. His hair is copper colored and wild. I always wonder if it's because someone else loves to run their fingers through it while he pleasures them in incredibly erotic ways, the same way I do.

I never ask him about other lovers, because if I'm not the only one, I don't want to know. Knowledge like that would leave me with no choice other than to stop seeing him, and I can't do that. Instead I fool myself in to thinking that maybe he looks as forward to our time as I do, and that there is no one else there to love him when he is away from me.

The rain is light but it is soaking through his clothes, causing his cotton t-shirt to cling to him enticingly, molding to the ridges and planes of his lightly muscled torso. I close my book and follow him with my eyes as he slowly meanders down my walkway. His expression is amused, happy even, and I wonder if it has anything to do with thoughts of me.

I chuckle to myself as I take in the expensive jeans, that are now just as wet as the rest of him, and the leather jacket dangling from his fingers. His whole look screams 'I'm fashionably sensitive, but too cool to care'.

I lose sight of him as I hear his footsteps on the front porch. I sigh, place the book on the coffee table and go to the door. He never knocks because he knows he doesn't have to. He knows that I am always here, waiting for him.

I open the door to see him leaning casually against the side of the house, smirking. He pushes away from the house, stalking towards me. I hear his jacket hit the wood of the porch and watch as he slowly peels his shirt off over his head, exposing every beautiful inch of his torso. When he gets just close enough so that the front of his body barely brushes mine, he stops.

His eyes are dancing with silent laughter and lust, his voice shattering the quiet I've become accustomed to throughout the day, "It's raining."

His words are always contradicting his body language. Here he is, seducing me with his graceful movements and half naked body, but he stands in my doorway with nothing to say, besides some comment on the weather. More foolish games.

I wordlessly move aside, deciding not to acknowledge his mind fuckery. He picks up his jacket and shirt then strides straight to the laundry room. I listen as he fumbles with removing the wet denim of his pants. I hear the dryer door open and shut, then the hum of the motor while his clothes tumble inside.

I walk to the bathroom and retrieve a towel, knowing instinctively that he will be completely naked. That is Edward. He pulls no punches sexually, only emotionally.

I return to find him standing in my kitchen, still dripping water from his hair, droplets making their way over his shoulders, chest, and back. I hand him the towel, training my eyes on his face so that I don't crumble to his will too early in the evening. The house is still dark, though there is enough light from outside to get by with.

I turn to the refrigerator pulling out food, the harsh light from inside momentarily illuminating his features in the periphery of my vision, while he dries himself, wrapping the towel around his waist.

Quiet words call for my attention, "Bella, I love the fact that you always know what I need before I have to ask for it. You're going to make some guy a very lucky husband one day." I wanted to blush at the compliment, but I knew there were more words coming. "Just make sure you don't do that until I'm done with you though, okay?"

I could hear the teasing in his tone and it made me irrationally angry. I wanted to scream at him and tell him that in case he failed to notice, in case he failed to see, this is my heart bleeding before him. This is me, down on my knees. These foolish games are tearing me apart, his thoughtless words are breaking my heart. _He_ is breaking my heart.

But I don't.

Instead I push that anger back and just shake my head without responding to his words. I continue slicing the fresh mushrooms to sauté while he laughs at my non-response. He thinks I am playing too, but I am only trying to hide my complete heartache.

I don't want to hide myself from him. I want to let him see me completely, with no barriers, but know that he would not respond well. He would run.

Edward has been clear from the start of our "relationship" as to his expectations, of which there were none. He expects nothing from me, and wants nothing to be expected of him in return. He is in this for sex and occasional companionship, that is all.

Remembering that I have no right to be upset with him makes me sick to my stomach. I had gone along with the charade, and still do, willingly. I followed where he led and never objected. It is my own fault that I am trapped in this cycle with him. No one is to blame but myself.

I turn fully to the stove, warming a pan, and set to slicing the onions as well. As I focus on the knife, making sure to avoid chopping off a finger, I startle at the loud scraping of chair legs on the linoleum. Edwards answering chuckle warms the room, and I can't help but giggle a bit myself.

My back stays turned to him as I go about slicing a zucchini, then add all of the vegetables to the hot pan, the familiar hiss helping to relieve some of the tension in the air.

I stir the vegetables occasionally, adding dashes of salt and pepper, some soy sauce. I can feel his eyes on me, though I do not look at him. I know that he will stay silent for now, he always does. The time for conversation will come later, after he has gotten what he came for.

I pull out two more large pans, placing them on the vacant elements, turning the heat up. I step to the side and reach in to the refrigerator again to retrieve the sliced chicken and steamed rice I had prepared earlier in the day.

I fill the waiting pans, stirring, adding spices and sauces, wondering what expression is on Edwards face at the moment. Is he bored, amused, aroused? I want so badly to turn and see for myself if his erection is tenting the thin towel covering him. I close my eyes and swallow a moan at the mental image of him sitting at my table, his beautiful cock exposed in the low light, the tip glistening slightly from the bit of pre-cum that has leaked out, waiting for me to touch and taste.

I shake my head to rid the image from my mind and try to focus on the food. I hear Edward laugh behind me and my face flushes at the idea that he could possibly know what I had been thinking.

The sun is setting so the light in the room becomes too low for me to function effectively. I reach overhead and turn on the small light just over the stove. The splash of light illuminates only the items on the stove, casting the rest of the room in shadow.

The sizzling of the food continues and I keep stirring, forcing myself to ignore his presence behind me. Satisfied that everything is finished, I pull three glass bowls of varying sizes from the cabinets, transferring the contents of the pans to them.

Keeping my eyes downcast I place the bowls on the table, then pull a bottle of wine from the refrigerator. As I reach upwards to the glasses in the cabinet a warm hand caresses my waist and another pulls my outstretched hand back to wind around his neck while he presses hot kisses to my throat.

I feel his erection pressing in to the lower middle of my back. He is over a foot taller than me so we do not align perfectly, but it feels perfect to me. He turns me slowly and lifts me to sit on the counter top.

I watch him smooth his hands down my legs as he guides them around his waist, his towel abandoned somewhere. His cock is standing proudly, the tip visible, pressed between his stomach and my pussy. He leans forward, intending to kiss me on the lips, but I turn my head and place my mouth on his jaw, biting and licking the slight scruff there. I cannot let him put his mouth on mine yet, and I cannot lose myself in him just yet. If I feel his mouth on mine I know that I will no longer be in control of myself, mind or body.

Edward grunts, frustrated at my avoidance, but thrusts against me anyway. I feel his arms wrap tightly around me and I lock my legs, knowing that he is planning to move somewhere else. As he backs us away from the counter I hear the glass of the wine bottle slide as well, and realized that only one hand is pressed to my back.

I continue to make warm trails of kisses and licks between his collar bone and ear lobe. I am a bit confused when I feel him sit, knowing that he has taken only a few small steps away from our original location.

I open my eyes and see that we are sitting at the table. Well, he is sitting, I am straddling his waist.

"I'm hungry" is all he says as he pulls my shirt over my head, smirking at the fact that I am not wearing a bra, before pushing me gently to lay against the top of the table.

I feel the rough fabric of terry cloth under my skin, some part of my mind noting that he must have covered the table with his towel.

My head and upper back rest uncomfortably on the table as he caresses my neck, then slowly drags his hand down between my breasts, letting his fingers trace down my stomach, to the drawstring of my cotton shorts. He tugs the string, untying the bow.

I watch his face in the low light as I feel his fingers ghosting just under the loosened waistband. I watch as his eyes darken and his tongue runs back and forth in the small space between his parted teeth. I feel his warm breath blow over my hardened nipples when he lets out a sigh, "Not yet."

Edward leans forward pressing our chests flush against one another momentarily. As he raises himself again I feel something warm trailing against my shoulder, down the side of my left breast, around my belly button, and back up to finally rest on top of my right nipple.

The same trail is made on the opposite side. I watch his face, hypnotized by the lust and concentration clouding his features. His breathing picks up and so does mine.

I feel as much as I see him place something warm and sticky against my lips, opening my mouth to take in whatever he is offering me. The crunch of a slice of zucchini sounds loud in the silence, the taste exploding in my mouth, followed by a mushroom.

I close my eyes reveling in the salty sweet taste when I feel his mouth cover one nipple, lingering there momentarily as he takes whatever food he had placed there. I feel his hot tongue trace the lines of sauce left behind down to my navel, dipping there, then trailing to the other nipple. He takes the food there in his mouth, grazing my nipple slightly with his teeth. I feel his jaw brushing against my skin as he chews.

His mouth returns to my breast in earnest, causing me to moan out loud and grind myself against his cock, cursing the shorts and panties I am still wearing.

Edward grips one hip with his hand, using the other to firmly cup my pussy. He places his lips at my ear and I can hear the lust and sex dripping from his voice, "Bella, _tsk tsk_, dinner must come before dessert. Please stop trying to seduce me before I've finished my meal."

As he finishes speaking he presses the heel of his hand harshly against my clit, causing my back to arch upwards and a cry of pleasure to escape my lips.

He presses my shoulders against the table once again, alternating between eating vegetables from my body and feeding some to me. He pours wine in to my mouth before taking swallows himself straight from the bottle.

His eyes are fiercely intense, and I find that I can't look at them for more than a few seconds at a time.

He takes his time, making sure to eat slowly, prolonging the experience.

Finally he lifts my ass and pushes me further up the table so that my legs are dangling at the knees. I thrill as I watch him stand and lean over me, removing my shorts and panties. I wait to feel his cock pressing in to me.

Instead I am disappointed to feel him back away to sit once again facing my parted legs. He places bowls of fried rice and chicken at my sides. I question him with a look, and his answering gaze tells me that he fully intends to finish this meal.

I watch as he alternates pieces of chicken with small piles of rice in lines up both of my thighs, and on to the skin just above my swollen pussy. I need friction, to be touched, and I am having a very hard time keeping still.

He feeds me each time he takes from me. He licks, bites, and kisses. He pours more wine in to my mouth, then takes some more for himself.

Taking in to account his slow pace, the amount of food that has been consumed, and the heady buzz I am feeling from the wine, I know that we have been at this for close to an hour.

I can see the tension in his muscles, straining to keep him from doing what I need most. Finally I can't hold myself together anymore and I beg him, "Edward, please, fuck me"

I feel his hands dig sharply in to my thighs, pulling me abruptly so that my ass is at the very edge. Without warning I feel his hot mouth against me and his tongue plunges inside.

"FUCK! Edward, ah!"

I immediately sit up leaning back on my hands to watch as his mouth devours me. The sight of me thrusting my hips in to his mouth, my arousal shimmering on his lips, cheeks, and chin causes a white hot fire to surge through my veins.

Suddenly, without warning, I am inundated with thoughts of regret and loss. I cannot have him like this again until four days from now. When I miss his presence during the week I cannot call him to hear his voice. I will have to wait until he feels the need to seek me out. Desperation fuels me.

I roughly push his head away from me, slamming his back against the chair as my body slides from the table and on to his lap. Before he realizes what is happening I have taken his cock inside of me with a precision that is as frightening as it is thrilling.

A mixture of fear, confusion, desperation, lust, and love drive me to rock almost violently against him, feral growls coming from deep in my chest.

Edwards is cursing and moaning. His hands assist the harshness of my movements against him, the slapping sound of slick flesh filling the air, accompanied by grunts.

As Edwards pulls me against him he uses his other hand to press against my aching clit. I had been so singularly focused on the desperation roiling inside me that I hadn't considered taking any physical pleasure from the moment. The unexpected sensation causes me to freeze momentarily, throwing my head back, digging my nails in to his shoulders.

As I regain control of myself I feel him gather wetness from where we are joined, then move his thumb back up, making slow but firm circles while teasing my nipples with bites and tugs.

Our bodies are still, so I lift my head to let him know it is okay to continue. When my eyes meet his I am stunned.

They are full of something, but I am not sure what. I feel wild, and I can tell that he is trying to read me, though he never can. A flash of something crosses his features, but it is too dark to tell what.

Suddenly I feel his cock leave me as he turns me and presses my chest flat against the cold table. I can hear the sound of glass breaking as bowls crash to the floor. The heat of his body covers my back and my name leaves his lips on a pained whisper just before his hot dick fills me quickly and roughly again.

He stands and begins pounding in to me with wild abandon. We are both making noises closer to those of animals than humans, yet I can't find it in myself to feel embarrassed or ashamed.

I feel my orgasm building, waiting to wash over me. I can't resist moving my hand to rub over the sensitive flesh. At the sight of me pleasuring myself Edward growls and swiftly knocks my hand away. I whimper and pound my fist on the table.

Edward wraps his arms around the front of my hips and straightens his legs, his tall stature making it necessary to bend them while I was flat against the table. My toes now barely brush the ground and my chest and face are the only things left touching the table.

Edward restarts a hard pace, one hand supporting me while the other rubs furiously at my clit. My orgasm builds again, but falls off unexpectedly. I'm left frustrated and angry that it continues to elude me.

"God damn it, Bella, fucking cum!" Edwards voice is strained and I know he is stalling, waiting for me.

I want to, I really want to, but my body isn't cooperating. "Edward, I can't, just finish."

My voice is breathless but the frustration and embarrassment is evident.

I can feel Edward swell further inside of me, on the verge of orgasm, so it catches me off guard when he growls out, "You fucking first, Bella."

I wasn't prepared when I felt him grasp my clit between his thumb and finger before tugging twice. My orgasm shoots through me with an alarming intensity. I scream in pleasure and surprise. I press my opened mouth to the table, feeling the soft wood give beneath the pressure of my teeth.

Edward lets out a sound close to a roar, pushing my knees up on the table, spread, so that my shins are flat against the table and my ass juts up in to the air. He thrusts five more times before he starts coming inside of me, the increased size of his head bringing on a second wave of my own.

We both cry out in pleasure, stilling, his back arched, spilling everything he has. As the feelings wane he collapses in to the chair behind him, leaving me breathless and sated on the table.

I can't catch my breath and I can hear that Edward is having the same problem. I readjust so that I am lying on my back, facing the ceiling. I reach my arms over my head, stretching my lungs so they can take in more air.

I close my eyes and hear Edward stand. I feel his arms lift me from the table, and feel my body sway with his as he ascends the stairs while carrying me.

We enter the bathroom and he stands me in front of the toilet before turning to leave and shutting the door. I sit and relieve myself, pushing his sperm out and in to the waiting water. The noises are always embarrassing and I am glad that he has the decency to leave me alone for that.

I clean myself and then stand, turning on the shower. As I step in to the warm spray I hear the door open again moments before I feel Edward behind me. Instead of acknowledging him I duck beneath the water, saturating my hair, trying to focus my thoughts.

We shower together silently, each washing the other, but not taking things too far. Probably because I seem to be unable to look him in the eye.

The horrible feelings that came over me in the kitchen have left me facing decisions that I knew would need to be made eventually. I am desperate for him, for his attention, for his love. There was no way out for me now, other than to do what I knew would always come.

This has to be done, finished. We have to be finished. I am no longer capable of being with him, without risking losing the best parts of myself.

As we step out of the shower he wraps himself in a towel, then begins to dry me. I can tell by the way that he cannot meet my gaze, and the tense set of his body, that he is somehow aware of the decision I've made. Maybe he came to a decision of his own, and, like me, he doesn't know how to go through with it.

If this is all that I have left of him, then I'll wait. I'll wait until time for him to leave tomorrow, then I'll simply tell him not to come back. I am somewhat sickened by the fact that I won't be able to tell him why, but I am more sickened by the thought that I will never see him again.

If tonight is all I have, I decide to make the most of it.

-3-

Edward is always brilliant in the morning.

We sit at the kitchen table again, cleaned of last night's activities, talking over coffee, while I clumsily strum my guitar.

"Since when do you play?"

I laugh at his question, "I don't play. I bought 'Guitars for Dummies' and am trying to teach myself. I have this odd craving to learn new things. Once I get the hang of this I'm sure I'll find something else, maybe I'll take a painting class, I don't know."

Edward begins to spout out his philosophies on art and music. Eventually he gets in to architecture, mentioning something about Baroque-something-or-other. It reminds me of a line in a Disney movie, and I tell him that.

He laughs, heartily, and it is beautiful. An art form in itself.

"My sister, Alice, and my mom still watch those movies all the time. You'd like them."

The moment the words leave his mouth I can see the fear in his eyes. They are words not meant for me. I can see it there, in his eyes, the moment he wishes he could take the words back.

Suddenly this love for him that I have been hiding from him turns dark. It makes me feel dirty, soiled. My feelings for him are unrequited and that makes them wrong. Wrong for him. Not what he wants.

He stands from the table and the chords I had been strumming turn discordant with my heartbreak.

"I'm gonna go get dressed. It's almost time for me to go."

I don't say anything as he turns and goes up the stairs. I listen and hear him moving around in my room. In my mind's eye I can see him frantically searching for his clothes, hurriedly dressing so he can escape the awkwardness that my fragile heart has allowed to encroach on what was once a time of pleasure and happiness.

I know that this is it, this is when it has to be done. If I don't let him go now I never will, and I can't survive being this close when it still isn't anywhere near close enough.

I trail up the stairs suddenly feeling far too exposed in the thin sweater and panties I had worn during breakfast.

When I push open the door, I don't find him in the frantic hurry that I had expected. Instead he is sitting on the opposite side of my bed, drapes pulled open, staring out in to the gray mists. I take a moment to let my eyes wander over his back, noting how perfectly his gray shirt hugs his shoulders. His form is distinctly masculine, inviting. He leans forward, dropping his head and placing his elbows on his jean clad knees.

I move to my dresser and pull on a pair cream colored tall boot socks. I wonder why I bother with them at all, and can't come up with any reason other than they give me time to stall. I know in my heart that I won't be able to look at him when I do this, but I can't be across the room from him either.

I decide to crawl up on my unmade bed, and sit so that our hips are touching, but I am facing in an opposite direction from him, then pull my knees in to my chest.

Before I can say anything I feel his arm slink around my stomach to rest on the other side of my waist. Unable to keep myself away from him I drop my knees behind his back and bury my face in his neck, breathing him in.

"Edward, I think... I think that this has to end. We have to end."

He doesn't react to my words, and though I expected it, it still hurts. My eyes begin to hurt, and I know the pressure is building behind tears. I press my face in to him harder, hoping they won't be allowed out.

Moments are filled with silence and nothing else. Neither of us moves, until he turns his face so that our cheeks are brushing. Even still, he says nothing.

In his silence, his non-reaction, I find my answers. He will go on like none of this happened, like I never happened.

"So, you're finally going back to Florida, then? I didn't figure that job could hold you here very long."

The nonchalance in his tone, completely devastates me. Not even a hint of sadness, longing, nothing to soothe the ache that this is bringing me. Not only does he not care, he is hoping that I will be returning to a place clear across the country.

The pain comes so quickly and so acutely that I can't control it. The tears fall freely as my body shakes and quivers with tension and sadness. I feel his hand tense slightly on my waist and I realize that I am trying to get away from him. I am scrambling to get away from him, from the hurt.

When I get to the other edge I feel my sweater tug just before he releases the hold he had on it. Still moving too fast, too desperately, I tumble to the floor.

"Bella, wait."

His voice only spurs my actions. I try to stand, half crawling, half running, to the bathroom. When I make it there I lock the door and sit with my back pressed against it, sobbing in to my knees, wrapping my arms around myself hoping to hold some small bit of my dignity together.

I hear his heavy footsteps as he enters the hallway. I expect, hope, that he will turn for the stairs and go. I try to stifle the noises I am making so that he won't feel obligation to stay or guilt for leaving. Unfortunately he comes to the bathroom door.

For a long time I don't hear anything, but I can still sense him there. Eventually I hear him shift so that he is low on the other side, like he's kneeling, and I hear something touch the door at the back of my head. Maybe his hand, or his forehead.

His voice floats quietly through the door, "Bella, I'm sorry. I don't know what's going on. I never meant for this to... to..."

He never meant to let me love him. He doesn't have to say it for me to know it.

Summoning all the strength I have left in me I clear my throat and steady my voice, "You'll have to excuse me, Edward. It's my fault. I think I mistook you for someone else. Someone more like myself."

There was a light thud on the door behind me.

"Bella, please, you have to understand that I don't know how we got here. Somewhere along the line I must have gone off track with you."

I pressed my hands to my mouth to try and hold in the wail that wanted out so badly. How can it be so easy for him, yet so hard for me? He's apologizing for my emotions, my pain, but he has no idea what I'm dealing with.

"Bella, please just open the door. I can't leave you like this."

"You can, Edward, and you will. I've known for a while how this was going to end, and it's not your fault. I should have told you when I started falling for you, but instead I was selfish and wanted to have this time with you. To be honest, I think it hurts less this way. At least I have these memories. And you're right, I need to go back home. This place isn't good for me anymore, and I won't hang around to make things worse for you."

There was a louder thud behind my head, like he was banging on the door with his fist.

"Damn it Bella, it's not that I want you gone, but you know I can't... I told you in the beginning that I'm not that kind of guy. I can't be what you want me to be, what you obviously _need_ me to be."

I take in his words and breathe deeply several times, trying to calm myself down. To pull myself away from the point of no return.

"You're absolutely right, Edward. You were honest with me from the beginning, and it's the only reason that I am not mad or upset with you right now. I am the only one to blame here, and I am truly sorry for putting you in this situation." The shake in my voice caused by the lump in my throat makes the words sound sad and pathetic, not honest and understanding as I had intended them.

The silence that follows is both calming and terrifying, for the same reasons.

Just when I am to the point of telling him to leave, I hear his voice, soft and sad, "Bella, you have to know... I mean, you must see what..." I hear a loud huff and a hard, humorless chuckle. "You know, I should just go. Please, do me a favor, and remember the beauty in what we shared Bella, while it lasted."

Before I can even respond I hear his footsteps quickly move from the door, down the steps, out through the foyer, then the slam of the front door as it causes me to jump.

The sound of his engine revving, and tires pulling away in such a hurry, is the proverbial nail in my coffin. I lean over until I am on the floor, in the fetal position, and let the ache take me under.

-3-

**Hope you somewhat-sorta-maybe-kinda-thought-it-was-okay. Happy Saturday.**


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